


I'm Not Scared

by synthpopp



Category: Unwind Dystology - Neal Shusterman
Genre: First Person, Gen, tithe, told from the perspective of an OC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 22:06:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2166882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synthpopp/pseuds/synthpopp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you've known all your life that you're going to be unwound once you've turned thirteen, it does scary things to your brain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Not Scared

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this a little while back on my tumblr, but basically it follows the story of an unnamed OC of mine that's on their way to be tithed. I mainly wanted to explore the psychological side effects of being a tithe more in-depth, so that's how this story came about!

I’m not scared. I remember the first time my parents explained what unwinding was, what a tithe was, the fact that I am one. It should have all gotten easier from there. It has. I had my tithe party and I knew what it was for; I knew it was the last party I would ever attend in a single piece. I knew that once I stepped off of that bus and began walking towards the harvest camp that I would never come out. Not as me. I didn’t care what kind of consciousness I would have in the years to come: all that mattered is that my body helped people. The purpose of my existence is to help people. I am prepared for that. I’m not scared.

I lived with other tithes for a while. We were patiently awaiting the day where we could finally give our lives meaning by giving them away. That’s what we were meant for. We had spent our whole lives detaching ourselves from the idea that we had a right to our bodies because as tithes, we didn’t. We clung to the idea that we had a right to our minds before realizing that it was useless. Tithes aren’t even human, really. We’re some kind of creature that's meant to be a part of the greater good. We're some kind of creature who's born with a set expiration date. We're some kind of creature that's born as sacks of organs and bones and blood that our parents give away to feel good about themselves, to feel morally pure, to save them a front-row seat in heaven. We aren't our parent's children. We are sacks of organs and bones and blood.

I turned thirteen about three weeks ago. It had always seemed so far away as a small child. Being seven years old, thirteen seemed like an entire lifetime away. So I let myself live. I let myself enjoy the feeling of the sun on my face and I let myself embrace my different emotions; I freely explored different parts of myself as I tried to win the race to figure out who I am before I ran out of time. I forget when that all stopped. Probably when I realized that thirteen really wasn’t far away at all. I worked so hard to dehumanize myself, which was hard, considering that my own raw emotions were anything but inhuman.

But I guess it must have worked, because I’m not scared.

Even as I’m walking to Chop Shop, even as the guards walk closely behind me, I am not scared. I am not trembling. I am not close to tears. I am God’s gift and I am prepared to give up my right to my body and my mind to help people. I feel memories surface in the corners my mind and I push them away. I have no desire to cling to them. I won’t have them soon enough, anyway. They never meant anything to me, they never meant anything to my parents; they never meant anything to anybody. They are worthless and will only stand in the way of fulfilling my life’s purpose.

I do not want to remember the time my friends and I went exploring in the woods behind my house and got hopelessly lost, I do not want to remember the time I won the science fair when I was in fourth grade, and I most certainly do not want to remember all the times I’ve heard my family tell me that they love me. I don’t want to remember how emotions feels, I do not want to remember how it feels to be alive because I’m not living and I never was.

The guard waiting outside the door opens it for me and I see the operating table inside. It all looks so sterile and so sickeningly colorful. Take a seat, I hear somebody say. My legs don’t want me to go forward and take a seat. I don’t want to take a seat. My heart starts pumping blood faster than it should, a response to the fight or flight response humans have. I can’t deny the fact that I want my body. I want my toes and my fingernails and my lungs and my heart and my oddly shaped nose; I want it all.

“No,” I can feel my lips moving and I can hear my voice, but I didn’t mean to say anything. I can’t stop the shaking now and my heart is beating faster than it ever had before. I am sweating profusely and the memories are hitting me with all their might, trying to instill upon me that I am human; I have emotions and feelings and wants and dreams and I could have a future if not for all this.

Thoughts race in my mind and each one hits me with a new kind of intensity. Going to high school, graduation, getting a job, moving out, getting married, having kids-I plan out my entire life in seconds, and I crave the time needed to live it.

I feel the guards pushing me into the room and I manually move one foot forwards. Then I move the other. I am walking. I am walking straight into the Chop Shop. I am being a good little tithe. I feel wetness on my shirt and I realize that I am sobbing. My body refuses to listen to my mind in my final moments.

“Can you please take a seat?” I hear the voice repeat.

“I don’t wanna die,” I croak. I shouldn’t be saying this. This is dangerous, this is stupid! Why is everything falling apart now, why did all those years of constructing walls around my emotions fail me? I’ve been waiting for this for years, anxiously counting down the days, and now I can’t stand the thought of not waking up as me.

“Oh no, this certainly isn't the end! You're just going to experience life in a different way from here on out. You should consider yourself lucky! Now, your priest is running a bit late, so can you please just sit down while we wait?”

For the first time in years, I am reminded that I am human. I am reminded that my status as ‘human’ is only temporary, and that my time has run out. I try to swallow and I realize that my throat is dry with fear. Fighting is useless. Fighting is foolish. Fighting would just make sure I missed my last chance to make everyone proud. I take a seat and try to stop my crying, wiping my tears off my face and trying to steady my ragged breaths. I’m not scared. I’m terrified.


End file.
